


To Be So...

by beaniebopbaby



Series: To Be So... [1]
Category: Fine Line - Harry Styles (Album), Kill My Mind - Louis Tomlinson (Song), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Break Up, Domestic Fluff, Exes, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut, but they get back together, this is basically about how their songs are for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24747397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaniebopbaby/pseuds/beaniebopbaby
Summary: "That I'm arrogant. That I'm a bitch. That I can't admit my faults or when I'm sorry. That's what you said right?"Louis once spat those words to Harry. They were so in love, how did they end up here, Harry drunk dialing Louis, asking him why he still thinks about the way Louis's cologne smells?Or the one where we figure out how Harry and Louis lost each other and found each other again.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: To Be So... [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832974
Comments: 3
Kudos: 59





	To Be So...

**Author's Note:**

> One night, I was listening to To Be So Lonely, and I kept thinking about how this is definitely about Louis. That's how this story got started. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> All of the chapters are from Louis' POV but if you'd like me to add some bonus chapters from Harry's POV, let me know which ones and I can do that!
> 
> Some parts will be in the present (which is mid-2018 for this fic) and some will be in the past, since the whole story is about L and H working through their differences. The sections that start with a quote are in the past. I felt like it was important to show what those differences were and how they unfolded.

Frankly, I would never admit it to anyone else.

If someone asked me, no matter how close I was to them or how many shots deep I found myself, I would not admit it. It was a secret I held deep, kept in the bottom of my soul, folded under several layers, tucked away in the bottom of a box. As far as I could get it away from the surface.

It couldn't come to light. Because the reality of it terrified me. What it meant, I couldn't face it, especially by myself. It wasn't something that I allowed myself to accept. I went through ridiculous measures.

It was an unspoken agreement between my assistant and I from when I got trashed one night a few summers ago. It was always there, a forbidden siren call, tempting. Anytime it would change, it'd be updated in my personal phone by the morning. Never my work phone. Always under the same hidden initials: S.H.E.

The initials thing gave me plausible deniability – not only to myself, but to anyone who saw the contact in my phone. No one had to know who it was. It gave me the ability to pretend to myself it was another person, certainly not him.

But whenever Harry Styles changed his phone number, my assistant would update the contact in my phone under that contact S.H.E. (Styles, Harry Edward. Drunk me thought it was clever.) It was a security blanket that I held tightly, that if I ever needed to, I could reach out and grasp. I never did use it.

One Thursday night, when even the stars were sleeping, my phone rang. It was the summer, towards the end of July, and the air, while admittedly humid, had an uncharacteristically coolness about it. I fell asleep with the window open that night. I fell asleep writing lyrics in a tattered red journal which was now nestled under the same then grey blanket I was.

My phone rang, drawing me out of the sleep I carelessly fell into with the bedside lamp on. I rubbed my eyes, trying to draw the confusion out of my brain, trying to find who exactly would call me at 4:35 A.M.

The contact was plastered on my screen, letters written out in thin white lines.

S.H.E.

I rubbed my eyes, confused. Figuring I had to have been dreaming because that wasn't my reality. It wasn't who we were anymore. I wasn't who anyone, much less he, called anymore. I felt the breath hitch in my throat. The air felt like it was frozen against my skin. It kept ringing.

"Um – hello?" I let myself breathe the words as I swiped to answer the phone call, holding it up to my ear. There was a long stretch of silence on the other end, like a faint white noise. I couldn't say how long it went on for. I was scared to say anything else, scared to take the phone away from my ear and double check the contact or watch the seconds tick by in bright white.

"You answered?" His voice was thick – like he was the one who was just been woken up at half past 4 in the morning. That or he wasn't sober. His voice was always deep and low and carried a dark rasp – like a deep mahogany. But when he was tired or drunk or high, his voice became wrecked, a little more hoarse, a little more quiet.

"Um, yeah. I did." I was still barely breathing words into the phone. I didn't know why he called. I didn't even know that he had this number. When was the last time I changed it? How did he get it?

"Uh... um. Hi. Hey, Louis." He spoke slowly, a long drawl always enunciating the uhs and ums.

Hearing him say my name again; Jesus. It felt like it had been years since I had heard him say my name. I felt ice creep through my veins and make its way to my spine. "Hey, Harry. You alright?" I don't know why I asked that. No one who calls anyone this late at night is alright.

"Alright? Sure. Uh – I guess. You alright?" Something shuffled around in the background, then I could hear him drink something.

"Sure. Where are you?"

"L.A." Another long sip of whatever he was drinking. "You?"

"London." I replied.

"Shit. I'm sorry, what time is it there?"

"No worries, I was up writing," I lied. "It's uh almost 5."

"You alright?" He asked again. His voice was slow and sounded as heavy as my eyes.

"You already asked that, Harry. Did something happen?"

"Did something happen? I got broken up with, right after I finished the tour. So that's something, uh – I guess. I've been drinking, again, since about noon. Whiskey. It smells like you."

I spoke slowly, unsure of how to reply to his drunken ramblings. "Harry, I - "

He cut me off.

"The room, it smells like you too. I smoked a few. It started off with just one cigarette. But the room smelled wrong, too much tobacco. Not enough vanilla, not enough whiskey, not enough of you. After all this time, you'd think, right?"

I wasn't sure where this was going. I couldn't bring myself to hang up, but he wouldn't continue. He sat, not talking. I could hear the ice clinking around in the glass that I'm sure he was twirling around with his long, slim ring clad fingers.

"Think what?" I finally asked.

"Think that after what we said, after what we did to each other. After going so long without seeing, much less speaking to each other, that the way you smelled wouldn't linger in my memory as strongly as it has." He took a deep breath, it sounded labored. The next line came out more as a choked sob. "That I wouldn't crave it, the way that I do."

"Harry, just breathe." I mumbled. I used to be good at dealing with him drunk. I used to be good at being with him in general. But I didn't know how to comfort this person; didn't know what this person had gone through the past few years or what words needed to be whispered at the top of his head to stop his heart from beating erratically. I didn't know how to fix the world for this person, how to make the sun shine again. "It's gonna be okay," I mumbled.

"No, Louis. It's not. It's not gonna be okay."

I decided to go a more distraction related route of calming him down. "Hey, your suits and outfits, during your tour. They sure were something, right? So much Gucci." I forced a chuckle.

"My suits? You saw 'em?" He sniffled.

"Yeah, on twitter and stuff. They're uh... really cool. How was that? I still go around wearing black skinny jeans and Adidas, none of that fancy stuff like you."

"Uh – its cool, I guess. Some of it was itchy... I've always liked your clothes though."

"Yeah? They're a tad bit boring though, innit?"

"I'm sorry for calling Louis," he blurted.

"You don't have to be sorry... I just don't really understand why you did."

"It hurts," he whispered. The words held in the air, draining any heat from the room. I was ice. He was quiet again, waiting. I let the words hang in the cool air before I replied.

"What hurts?" I whispered back. I could hear his shaky breathes, inhaling and exhaling, on the other end of the line. He sounded like he was crying.

"That I'm arrogant. That I'm a bitch. That I can't admit my faults or when I'm sorry. That's what you said right?" I heard a glass bottle be sat against a counter top, a long gulp, a shaky breath. "How we ended things, it hurts."

"Baby..." I whispered; it escaped my lips. I didn't mean for it to. He sounded so hurt, broken. Like he did whenever he'd climb into my bed, crying about something that bothered him. Freezing feet tucking into my calves so that every inch of our skin was making contact in some way, so that I could hold him closer. But this time it was me, it was us, that caused that broken voice.

I wasn't sure if he heard it. I wasn't even sure if I actually said it.

"Don't, please." He choked around his sobs. "Don't call me that, please." I heard glass meet the counter top again, it was a rough and aggressive clang. Then a long tonal beep.

He had hung up.

\---

Some days, it'd hit me harder than others. I had been numb to it for a bit, then memories and thoughts would resurface, and I'd remember that my mum wouldn't be able to pick up the phone and tell me how to fix a sauce I ruined trying to cook it. Or be at my wedding. Or see my sisters and brother grow up.

She'd miss all that.

So, when I found myself deep into those thoughts, I'd grab a pack of cigarettes and sit on the deck, staring at nothing and chain smoking until my throat felt raw and numb at the same time. By the time I had finished off this pack of cigarettes, I had five empty bottles of beer sitting next to me, a sixth on its way to joining its friends.

I certainly wasn't the most drunk I had ever been, not drunk enough to justify what I was about to do. But I wasn't in the right mind set to start drinking in the first place. And now I was here, surrounded by empty thoughts, empty bottles, and an empty silent night.

The day after Harry called me, Nat, my assistant, came in. She picked up my personal phone, typed something in, then sat it back down.

That usually only meant one thing. That he had changed his number again.

And after he called me, no less. Did that mean that he didn't want me to have his number? Or that I wasn't the only call he placed that night and now he was changing his number to escape some consequence of a drunken mistake?

After not seeing him for a year and a half, by this time, I had gotten pretty good at not letting myself think about what was going on with him. Towards the beginning, I was obsessed with it, looking at daily update twitters just to see his stupid dimples again. Then there was that night I got drunk and listened to his album over and over until my speakers blew. But by now, his presence was stored at the back of my mind with the memories and secrets. It was there, always. But it wasn't haunting or looming.

That was, until he called me, that Thursday night.

Now, I was back to counting.

It had been three and a half years since we had broken up.

It had been exactly three years since he told me "Never speak to me outside of work."

It had been a year and a half since he last held me, since we got into that huge fight.

It had been eight days since he called me.

Goosebumps found their way on to my arms; I had been sitting outside for a few hours now. When I first stepped outside, the t-shirt I was wearing was sufficient. But the sun dipped low beyond the pine trees and the pale sky turned to a burnt orange then the darkest, deepest blue. All while grey smoke billowed to join the mess of colors in the sky.

My fingers were starting the get unbearably cold, a little numb. So perhaps I let them have a mind of their own when they found their way wrapped around my phone, hovering over the contact.

I took a deep breath and pressed the number.

It only rang twice before he answered. "Hello? Uh, Louis?" His voice was slow, so impossibly slow. And deep.

"Yeah, hey. Uh – where are you?" I asked, to gauge if I was interrupting something. If I was, I could use that as an excuse to hang up and end my incredibly stupid decision to call him.

"I uh, I'm out."

"What do you mean you're out? Where are you?" I asked again.

"To be honest, I um – don't really know?" His voice raised hesitantly, like he was asking a question.

"Explain what you mean, Harry."

"I needed to get away, and I told them that. I just told them to find me a cabin, somewhere, anywhere. Then I got in the car, closed my eyes. I didn't open them until we arrived. Just needed some time."

I snorted. I hadn't done that in so long. But that was the most ridiculous and the most Harry thing I had ever heard of. "Well, do you at least know what country you're in?"

"Yeah, I'm in states still, somewhere north, if I had to guess."

Still. He said still. Did that mean he remembered calling me that night? Remembered telling me that he was in the US in the first place?

"Are you sick?" He asked, interrupting my train of thought, before it could spiral into trying to think about whether or not this, or that phone call, meant anything to him.

"Sick? No, why?"

"Your – uh, your throat. Sounds scratchy. You okay?"

I cleared my throat, instinctively, and regretted it. Pain shot through my raw throat, and I looked around for something to drink, only finding my empty bottles of regret. I stood, placing the phone between my ear and shoulder, heading towards the kitchen.

"Nah, I'm not sick. What are you doing?"

"I was walking through the woods, down to this lake they have here. You would like -" He trailed off but recovered quickly, and awkwardly. "What are you doing?"

"Me? Was thinking, smoking. You know, the usual," I reply, making my way inside and finding a bottle of water. He mumbled something between wish and quit but when I asked him to repeat himself, he refused.

"Hang on a second, let me sit down." He shuffled around. "What were you thinking about?"

"Her." I reply, simply. I hadn't yet decided if I was going to dive into it all with him, probably something I should've decided before I picked up the phone.

"Who, Lou? There are a lot of hers." Lou. He called me Lou.

I swallowed, hard, feeling the lump in my throat. The words came out of my mouth, despite the crack that accompanied them, that made them sound strangled, I knew he understood. "Me mum."

"Oh," He started. "I'm sorry, Louis. Do you wanna talk about it?"

"You're probably busy."

"No, truthfully, I'm not. I was taking a break from playing some board games and decided to go on a walk by myself. Not due back for at least an hour, ya know?"

"Are you sitting in the middle of the woods? Don't go getting eaten by a bear on my account. Don't get lost." He laughed, one of those loud, crackling, thunderous laughs, that used to just be for me.

"I'm sitting on a dock, all safe from bears probably, I'd say. No worries about that. What's on your mind?"

I start rambling. "That she'll never see the babies grow up. They were so young when she died. They're not gonna remember her, she was so amazing, and they'll never know. And when I need to know something or need help, she's not gonna be there. She's not gonna hear these songs, or ever give me another talk before-"

He cuts me off.

"Hey, Lou. Listen, hey." He soothes, over the phone. How many times have I heard that voice? I feel my heart ache and long to hear that voice not over the phone, in my ear. To feel his hands rubbing soft circles into my back while he whispers to me softly, telling me it's okay to cry, to be hurt.

"Your mum was amazing, nothing can take away from that. And your brother and sister will learn all about that, there's no way you and your sisters won't let them know that. You have stories to tell them and pictures to show them that'll last a lifetime. And her love that she poured into all of you will spill into them. They'll be alright. It'll be alright."

I nod, even though he can't see me. Then we sit on the phone, quietly. I can hear insects chirping, surrounding him, echoing off trees, into my ear. I sit and sip at my water.

I'm the first to break the silence. "Thanks." I whisper, voice hoarse.

"Any time you need." He said it quickly, like he's just trying to get it out of his mind but didn't really want me to hear.

"Uh, sorry for you know – bringing down your evening."

"You don't have to apologize for that. You didn't bring down my evening," he promised. His voice had a hint of a smile, it sounded endearing.

"But – uh. I do. Have to apologize. For that night, for the things that I said to you-" I'm rambling again, trying to get these hazy ideas out, my mind saying the first words that have the potential to convey what I'm feeling, even if they're not the best ones. Because truthfully, I want to be good with him again. I want to be friends or on speaking terms, on anything. I want to be something to him again, I need to be.

"Stop." He cuts me off.

"What?"

"I can't. I'm not ready for this conversation. Eventually, okay? Just – I can't have this conversation with you right now. Not ready for it."

"What do you mean? I need to apologize to you for-"

"We both need to apologize for a lot. But right now, I'm not ready. And you were just thinking about your mum, you were just spiraling, Lou. Now's not a good time for either of us." His voice sounded so sincere, and calm. Like a warm breeze that brushed over you, bathing you in sweet breathable heat.

"Then when? Because, Haz, I want to be friends again. I want to at least be able to talk again. Anything, please."

\---

"Then when? Because, Haz, I want to be friends again. I want to at least be able to talk again. Anything, please."

"I want to be something again too." He mumbled, softly. I was barely able to hear it over the loud chirping of insects. "But I don't know what yet. I don't know how to do this yet."

"You don't always have to know everything, Harry. You don't have to have a plan for this. We can just try to be friends. We were best friends. Even now, when we are hurting because of each other, we so easily fall back into being there for each other. That has to account for something, doesn't it?"

"I just feel like if I don't have a plan for it, then it won't work out, it won't go right. That we will mess it up. And I don't want to mess this up again. We've messed it up so many times. How many more until the damage is permanent, irreversible?"

It didn't feel like we were talking to each other anymore. It felt like we were talking at each other. The words that clouded my thoughts, that ached to be spoken, found their way onto my lips. I felt desperate – to let him know that I've grown, changed. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was for what happened. I wanted to know if he was sorry. 

I could hear how guarded his words were, scared to let us slip and fall into this hole we so often found ourselves in – trying hard to climb out. We sat on the phone again in silence, both too scared of what words would fall from our lips. 

"How about this?" He said, softly, cautiously. "What if we just talk, no heavy stuff. On the phone, or texting. Or something like that. We promise no apologies, no talking about what happened? Not until we are ready to talk about the heavy stuff." He spoke slowly and enunciated every syllable carefully and intently. 

"Yeah, H. That sounds good. No heavy stuff," I repeated, like the words were foreign to my lips.

Because no heavy stuff was foreign to our relationship. It was full of the heavy, the bad, the ugly. It was hard.

But when we were together, when we were good, all the bad was outweighed by the fact that we felt weightless, drifting on your back in the most beautiful pool, sun beaming down effortlessly. He was the kind of person that always made the heavy stuff feel like a light load, like a basket of laundry instead of the ton of bricks it actually was. 

I didn't know this no heavy stuff would even entail. Did we talk about food? TV shows? Did he even have time to watch stuff like that? Would he even want to talk about that kind of stuff with me? But I was so determined to return to having some kind of relationship with him, that I agreed.

"No shade, Lou. I wood like to go out on a limb here and be friends."

Oh, God. His puns. He laughed harder than I did, and I laughed pretty hard. I could hear his hand slapping his own knee. I found myself rolling my eyes with a giant smile plastered on my face.

"Sorry, mate. I can't hear you. I don't think my international plan includes really shitty puns." I said, walking over to my bedroom and plopping down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling while we spoke on the phone.

"Ouch, that hurts," he said, voice full of mock offense. "Can't believe you think my jokes are shitty. That hurts like a birch."

"If you're gonna make terrible puns, I'm gonna hang up. You're making my ears bleed."

He laughed again. Even though he wasn't in my room, I felt warm. We joked around for a couple more minutes before he said "I actually do have to go, Lou. But we will talk soon, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Have a good night, Harry."

"You too, get some sleep. Night, Louis."

That night, when I eventually did fall asleep, I dreamt of the sun. I felt warmth wrap around me like a blanket, and I basked in every last drop.

That's how this no heavy stuff friendship started with Harry. The next day, he sent me a picture of a turtle that was by the lake he was staying at. I replied with a gif of the baby turtle from Finding Nemo.

I sent him a picture of the lasagna I was trying to make while attempting to teach myself how to cook. He replied that it's the first time he'd seen me make something that actually looked edible.

The next day, he sent me a picture of a run-down tattoo parlor that was called Lou's Toos. He said you get your tattoos done here? must be why they all look like shit. I told him they're better than the doodle sheet a toddler did on his arm. 

We had been going back and forth like this for two weeks, easy quips and light conversations. I tried to be effortless with my responses, like I hadn't spent thirty minutes thinking about the right thing to say. Only to remember that I was doing the exact same thing I told him not to do; overthinking and planning everything. So, then I'd type out the first thing that came to my mind, just to delete it immediately after.

Most recently, he texted me a picture of this alfredo pasta dish I would order at least once every time we went to LA. There was an Italian restaurant right next to the studio we recorded in ran by this big busted old lady with a mean face. Inside, she was sweet, after you got past the hardened exterior. She insisted that we call her Nonna. 

He didn't send a caption with this picture. 

I knew it wasn't his usual order. He always got the chicken piccata. But instead, he got the alfredo I did. How the hell was I supposed to reply to this? As I stared at the picture, trying my hardest not to think too much into it, three grey dots popped up.

Fuck, he was typing. 

I swiped up, to close out of the message. I didn't want him to see that I was obsessively staring at the photo. 

His message was Nonna says hi x

Jesus. Was that x from Nonna? Was it from him?

He was obviously with her, so I couldn't take forever to reply or else it'd be awkward. 

Hi Nonna. Hope she's doing okay x

She says that you need come visit, she misses you.

\---

"It had been three and a half years since we had broken up."

In hindsight, the schedule was a pretty good idea on management's part. If we were recording late at night, after the concert, there was only so much trouble we could get up to.

There were only so many things tabloids, paparazzi, and TMZ could find out we did in hotel rooms. We couldn't go out to bars and clubs and get wasted in public. We wouldn't sneak out because we felt like we owed something to the other boys, to the fans.

So, we dutifully spent nights surrounded by mattresses and microphones and wires and blankets that didn't smell like home. We had laptops and journals surrounding us, lyrics etched onto every surface. 

Nights off were rare.

Harry and I had a routine.

Record, or goof off with the other boys if we could manage it. We would get two separate hotel rooms right next to each other, even if we had to swap with someone else, the ones that had the door to connect between them. Then we'd end up in one, usually mine, cuddled under the hotel blankets. 

Tonight, was one of those rare nights off. We weren't scheduled to record anything, and our flight wasn't scheduled to leave until 6 pm the next night. Liam and I had plans to go out. We were going to drive an hour out of the city to minimize any chance we'd get caught, go to a bar that didn't attract our normal type of fans.

I walked into my hotel room, unlocking the connecting door from habit, then discarded the sweaty clothes that once clung to my body in pools on the floor, a trail leading from the connecting door to the bathroom. 

I stepped into the shower after checking the temperature with my hand. Steam had already caressed the glass of the shower when I heard the bathroom door open, Harry's damp curls peeking through.

"Hi." He said simply, a smile gracing his soft, pink lips. He was wearing sweats, small beads of water dripping down from his hair and the nape of his neck to the light grey t-shirt. The smell of his aftershave and shampoo overwhelmed the bathroom.

"Hey," I smiled brightly back. He pressed a kiss to my back as the water trickled down and mumbled that he would have joined me, but he already showered. 

When I got out of the shower, a white towel wrapped around my hips, I found him laying on my bed, on top of the covers, ankles crossed.

"Wanna pick the movie tonight?" He offered. 

I walked over to my suitcase and opened it, rifling through jeans and converse. "I'm going out tonight, actually. Me and Liam, join us." The smile fell from his face.

He looked up at me, eyebrows raised, confusion and hurt riddled among his furrowed brows. "What?"

"Liam and I are gonna go like an hour outside of town and find a pub or a bar or club or something. Do you wanna go?"

"No, Lou. I want to watch a movie in bed with my boyfriend." The words fell like acid from his sweet lips. I slid boxers and jeans on quickly, not wanting to be in a towel or naked for this conversation. 

"We watch movies all the time, H. I want to get out. I need to get out." I replied, desperately. I wasn't a homebody. I wanted to see and experience the things that we were missing. We were trapped in hotel rooms enough, there would be other movies. There would not be other nights off.

"You'd rather go out than watch a movie with me?" He stood up now, green eyes bearing down into mine. I couldn't take the intensity they held, too serious for someone his age.

"I'm not saying that, love. Please." I reached out for his hand. He let me take it. "It's not about wanting to spend time with you. I just need a breather from the fame. Not from you, never from you." I kissed his hand. He nodded, but I couldn't tell if the understanding reached his eyes.

"I'm not feeling it tonight. You have fun, be safe." He leaned down, brushed his lips to the top of my forehead. Then he left the room. 

I threw on a t-shirt and hoodie and left my hotel room, desperate to get out of the frigid atmosphere Harry left behind when he exited. Luckily, Liam was in the hallway, on his phone, ready to go.

It took him less than five minutes in the van to ask me what was wrong.

"Uh – I don't know. I think I got into an argument with Harry," I replied.

"What do you mean, you think?"

"We didn't scream at each other or anything. He wanted to stay in and watch movies tonight. I invited him out and then he left the room. Told me to have fun and be safe."

"Hmm," Liam replied, in that way where you can tell that your friend is trying to figure out the right thing to say for your situation. "Harry's a pretty understanding guy, he knows that you want to get out. I'm sure it's all fine."

"Yeah," I nod, looking out the window. "S' all fine, I'm sure."

We kept quiet the rest of the ride, eventually coming up to this run-down looking sports bar in the middle of a highway. Liam's cousin and a few of his friends from home were with us on tour and they joined us for a night out. 

Daniel, Liam's cousin, ordered us a round of shots and beers. We sat in front of the biggest TV the sports bar has, watching some footie game. The colors of the football kits started to blend together the more we had to drink. I didn't know who is playing.

The driver and managers won't let us be out for long, so Liam and I do three more shots back to back. He's dancing to some song and I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. I ignored it, chugging a beer with Daniel who then rowdily shakes my shoulders because someone scored a goal. I bounce up and down with him, screaming with the rest of the bar. 

"Oi, Louis, lad!" Liam shouted from somewhere. I turned my attention towards him, finding him using a juke box for support. "Mate, look what they've got," he cheered excitedly. 

"Oi, I haven't seen one of those since we got hammered in that bar in Houston." I walked over to him, someone slid me a coin to put in it. 

"Whatever song you want, it's on me," the person said, I couldn't focus on their face. I barely could read the words, but I recognized the name Beat It and soon heard Michael Jackson fill the bar. We left soon after that and a car ride later, I'm stumbling down the hallway of the hotel back to my room. 

When I got in my room, I remembered the buzzing coming from my pocket and checked my phone. 

The time was 3:43 AM.

I miss you x sent at 12:45 AM.

Have a good time and come back to me, yeah? sent at 2:12 AM

Babe? I was trying to wait up for you xx sent at 2:54 AM.

Damn, I felt like an ass for not replying. 

I didn't find Harry in my bed when I walked over to it. I wondered if he left the connecting door open, I wouldn't blame him if he didn't. But he was a better man than I was. 

I reached for the door handle and much to my surprise, it was unlocked. He was curled up on his side under the sheet, never the comforter because it always made me feel too hot. His eyelashes touched the tops of his cheeks and he was breathing evenly. The TV was on, volume low, and washed the room in a pale blue light. 

I stripped down to my boxers by the door and got under the sheet with him, curling my arms around his waist, spooning him. I rubbed my hands against his stomach down to his thigh and held him close.

"Your hands are freezing," he mumbled into the night, voice hoarse from the concert and sleep. 

I placed a long kiss to the side of his neck, he sighed with contentment. "Sorry," I replied. "For my freezing hands and for not replying to your texts."

With a nod, he turned over, facing me. His hand moved up to cup my cheek and I pressed more kisses to his neck. I moved my way up, to his jaw, his cheek, settling on his lips. I kissed deeper, settling into his warm and sinfully slow-moving lips.

His lips parted and I tongue kissed him, hands moving down his spine, following the tight muscles against his smooth skin. He pulled back and began to kiss my jaw, sucking and nipping very lightly. "You taste like alcohol," he mumbled into my skin.

"Sorry, love," I mumbled, peppering kisses anywhere I could get my lips on, fingertips playing with the top of the waistband of his boxers. His lips stilled on my collarbone, he just left them there. As my fingers were about to dip below, into his boxers, his hand found mine and he dragged it to be settled in the middle of his back.

"Not tonight, Lou."

"Why not?"

"Cause you're drunk. 'S not consensual."

"But I always want you."

"Just not tonight, okay? Just cuddle me tonight."

I tried to pull back and look at him, but he held me firmly so that his face was buried into my chest. I fell asleep with my hand on his back, the exact same place he put it. 

Far too early, before I got enough sleep, I was being woken up. Harry's alarm was going off somewhere. And I felt two cool hands cup my cheeks. "Baby," Harry whispered urgently. "Get up, c'mon."

"What? No, go to sleep. And turn that shit off." I opened one eye to see him. He was out of bed, towering over me with grey sweatpants on. It was six in the morning. 

"C'mon, Lou. Please." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "I want to see the sunrise with you. Please get up."

"Haz, no. We haven't even been asleep for that long. Get back in bed." I wrapped my arms around his waist and tried to pull. It didn't work. 

"Do you remember when we were at that vacation? At the ski resort? And that night you woke me up to watch the sunrise? C'mon." He grabbed my hand. "Please, babe."

"No, Harry." I jerked away from him.

"Louis. Seriously. Get up." He wasn't being sweet anymore, his voice was deep and gruff. I didn't want to get up. I didn't want to watch a damn sunrise, I was exhausted. I just wanted to go back to sleep, so I didn't respond. "Louis, you owe me, come on."

"I owe you?"

"Yeah, because you chose to go get drunk instead of watch movies with me."

"Are you being for real right now, H?"

"Yes, Louis. You always choose everything over me. Get up, come on. Let's go."

"No, I'm not going anywhere. What the hell are you on about? It's six in the morning, you're delusional, sleep deprived. Go back to bed."

"It doesn't take someone being delusional to see that every time we have a night off, you always pick doing something else over being with me." Harry shouted, towering over me on from beside the bed. His hands were gesturing wildly, his nostrils flared. He was angry.

"That's not true. And I always invite you," I replied, exasperated. 

"Every time we have a night off, you never want to be around me. You don't want to spend that time with me. I'm starting to feel like this is just a relationship of convenience for you. You only want me when it's timely for you."

"I just need a fucking break sometimes."

"Do not swear at me."

"I'm just trying to tell you how I feel but you're not listening! It's too damn early and you're being ridiculous. It's just a fucking sunrise. It's always about what you want. I want to go out, I want to see the places we're at. You never want to do anything other than stay back at the hotel."

"It's not just about the fucking sunrise!" Harry shouted; I knew he was pissed. "I'm just trying to survive, Lou, and keep this relationship working. I'm trying to keep my head above water. Going out, partying, that doesn't do that."

"Well maybe if you took some time to relax instead of having your head up everyone's ass all the time, you would be fine."

"Are you serious right now?" I don't respond. "Get out. Get out of my room. Now."

"Haz-"

"I said get out."

\---

Harry and I broke up while we were on the road. So, I didn't have to be at the flat, surrounded by his stuff, our stuff.

I did have to be surrounded by him, but the stage was big. Our schedules were kept separate. I only saw him for sound checks and concerts. We were never alone, we barely looked at each other. We were cordial, polite, distant.

In between legs of the tour, when we were in London, I didn't go back to the place where his hoodies were hung up in my closet. I didn't stand in the kitchen that had his baby pink mug next to the teacup my gran gave me. I didn't sit on the couch that used to be in our first flat, the one we shared together, when we were young and in love and in way over our heads.

I never went back to that flat, ever. Eventually, Lottie needed a place to stay in London and I told her she could do whatever she wanted with that flat. She and mum cleaned it up. They asked me if I wanted to keep anything in there. I told them I didn't care.

What I didn't know was that my mum packaged some things up for me when they cleaned up the flat. She didn't tell me about this box she had for a while, over a year. But when she got sick, she told me she needed to get something off her chest.

She went into her closet and grabbed a box, it wasn't labeled. It sat in the back of her closet, tucked away. Now it was in the back of my closet.

Things were going well with Harry. Things were light, like he said they'd be. We didn't talk about old memories or the band. Too much was tied up in that, it was too loaded, too emotional to unpack.

We were finally on the phone again, after texting for a month.

"Are you coming to LA anytime soon?" He asked.

"Uh, I'll have to check. Are you coming to London any time soon?"

"I'll probably spend December there; I haven't decided yet."

"I'll check and see if I'm coming down there sometime before then. What are you doing now?" I asked.

"I'm sat outside, by the pool. Listening to the ocean. All the different blues reminded me of your eyes. That's why I called."

I stumbled with my response. "Uh – Harry, thanks. But you can't say stuff like that..." I trailed off.

"Why? That's a friendly thing, just thinking about your eyes, Lou."

I shrugged. "That isn't uh..." I didn't know how to explain. "I don't think that's strictly friendly. It's a tad bit flirty."

"Hmm, is it?" He said into the phone. I could hear the smile that played on his lips. I could see him clearly in my mind, in a small pair of board shorts, probably shirtless. I could picture the sun beaming down on his porcelain skin that's littered with black lines, telling a story.

I laughed softly and told him that it is. He asked me what I was doing. Damn.

Right before he called, I did something that I hadn't in a while. I went into my closet and pulled out the box my mum gave me. There was a blue jean jacket with fur. Our cups for tea. A forest green hoodie. There was a stack of handwritten notes.

And five polaroids. One I was sitting on his lap, kissing his cheek. One was a selfie, him leaning incredibly close to me, curls turning towards me, touching my face. One was a picture Niall grabbed on tour, we were making a silly face at each other, sticking our tongues out, laughing. One Harry took himself when I fell asleep on his chest one night on our old couch.

The last was us kissing.

When my phone rang, Harry's name flashing on the screen, I was sat on the floor with the box settled in between my thighs, the hoodie pulled on. If I pulled it up over my nose, I could still smell the very faint scent of his cologne and laundry detergent. It was distant, but it was there.

"Uh, going through a box of things."

"Hmm," he hummed into the speaker, deep voice vibrating into my ears. "That's pretty vague."

"It's some stuff from my old flat."

"Oh," he sounded giddy. "I love old stuff, like memories? Is it like a memory box?"

"You could say that, yeah. A memory box."

"What's in it? What are the memories?" he asked.

I was scared to tell him, but he said that thing about my eyes. He was thinking about my eyes. He said it was friendly. That made me brave.

"I'll show you." I took a picture of some of the polaroids – I left out the two of us kissing; I wasn't feeling that brave. And the mugs. I sent them to him. I clutched the phone to my ear, listening closely, for any hint of his reaction to the picture.

He cleared his throat. I didn't know what that meant. "I uh – miss that um couch."

"Yeah, I miss that couch too. Was really comfortable."

"Do you uh – wanna see something?"

"Sure, Hazza."

I heard him stand and get up. I tried my best to not think about where he was going, what he was gonna show me, what he was thinking. After about a minute of shuffling around, he told me to check my texts.

He had two photos. One was us sitting on couch in the dressing rooms at the O2. Our limbs were tangled together, his leg on top of mine, my arms wrapped around him, his hand on my thigh. Our eyes were closed, we were just holding each other. Soft smiles were on our faces.

The other picture was older, much older. It was from our first time in America. We were in our hotel room, laying on our backs, heads knocking together. We were smiling brightly up at the camera, heads barely in frame. We looked happy, young.

I sniffled. I didn't mean to. But my nose was running, and I had tears forming in my eyes.

"Don't cry, blue eyes," Harry mumbled into the phone. "I'm sorry."

"Thought we weren't apologizing," I half-heartedly teased, wiping at my eyes.

"Jesus, Lou." His voice was quiet, I wanted to lay my head on his shoulder. I wanted to hug him.

"This is pretty heavy, I thought we were trying not to do heavy." He didn't say anything. "I miss you, H." I whisper.

"We will see each other, and talk it out, okay? Talk out the heavy? We shouldn't do that kind of thing over the phone. We should do it in person, right?" He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

"Yeah, in person. Face to face. I'll see when I'm coming to LA next," I said as Harry sniffled.

"Okay, yeah. Okay. I'll talk to you later, alright?"

"Yeah, Haz. Talk later."

As Harry hung up, I went to my calendar, looking at dates within the next two months for times that I could go to LA.

\---

"It had been exactly three years since he told me 'Never speak to me outside of work.'"

When every second of your day is scheduled, a week feels more like a month. So being broken up with Harry for six weeks was more like being broken up with a person for six months. That's how long it took for us to talk again like normal people.

Because despite the fact that we were not dating, staying away from Harry Styles was not something that came easy to me. Conversations and jokes always flowed so easily between Harry and I. Making him laugh, seeing those dimples, hearing that cackle. It was like a drug to me. I was addicted, had been ever since I met him.

And then I was stuck, between feeding my addiction by being his friend. And thinking about how fucked up this situation was.

It hurt and the second I was alone I thought about it – how I couldn't hold him because we were not together anymore. How his emerald eyes became unreadable to me, slowly. I could feel walls go up, brick by brick, until he had a tower of defense. I would wonder who held him when he was sad, who brushed their fingers through his hair.

Those thoughts only came when I was alone.

I made sure I was never alone.

If I didn't have to record in the hotel, I'd go out. I didn't care anymore how close the clubs were, if I got caught, or bad press. If I did have to record, I'd do it as quickly as I could. I invited mates from Doncaster and London to join the tour, they would get me drunk whenever I asked. I asked often.

I spent most nights on the bus, I didn't care where I ended up crashing. Every night we went out, we'd drive into the hotel's carport and I'd crawl from the van, drunk off my ass, straight to a bunk.

This particular night, I wasn't feeling the bunk. I wanted to be wrapped in a big comfy duvet. Maybe I'd have a bath or something. Self-care and all that shit I read on twitter, right?

I wasn't feeling the club this night, so I left earlier than everyone else. It was around 1 am.

I got a hotel key card from a tour runner named Jean and walked down the hall. I found long, awkward limbs folded, sitting against a wall in the hallway. His curls were pushed back with a scarf, his phone was held in one hand.

The other was picking at his lips.

His head was held down and I stopped, standing between his brown boots.

"Hey, kid." I mumbled. His head jerked up, his eyes were bloodshot, tears collected, creating a jeweled tone sea. When I saw that my heart sank, I crouched down, balancing on the balls of my feet. "What's wrong?"

"Uh – you don't..." he mumbled, voice hoarse and torn. "You don't have to. We're broken up, don't have to um like take care of me anymore." He wipes at his eyes and stands, leaving me crouched on the floor. He started to walk down the hall, but I grabbed his arm.

"I'm doing this because I want to." He looked down at his feet, avoiding my eyes. I tried to look up in his eyes, but he just nodded, standing in the hallway awkwardly. "Let's go watch Goggle Box clips on YouTube in your room and if you want to talk later, you can," I said.

He started walking down the hall, I assumed this was a yes to my offer. He unlocked his room and pulled a laptop out of his bag, sitting on the bed. I joined him, careful not to touch him. But slowly, as the videos play through the playlist he put on, we gravitated towards each other.

Our arms were touching, I felt electricity running through my veins. I couldn't pay attention to the videos, I could only hear his breathing, see him picking at the skin around his fingernails. He was going to make them bleed.

I put my hand on top of his, telling him to stop. The next breath he drew in was shaky, labored. I dragged my eyes up to meet his, he was already looking at me. I didn't realize our faces were this close. I could feel his breath mingle with mine.

I didn't know who leaned in first, but our lips met, his tongue moving lustfully in my mouth. I slowly dragged my fingertips from his hand, grazing his biceps and neck until I got to his cheek. I drank him in, missing the feeling of how his dimple dipped in under my thumb when we snogged.

I panted, trying to catch my breath, overwhelmed with feeling him again. My hands moved up to his hair and he moaned in between kisses. His hands found their way to my hips. "Is this what you want?" The words hung in the air; he still didn't look at me. But he moved from leaving kisses on my lips to my jaw, nipping and sucking softly.

I felt him nod.

"Can I make you feel good?" I asked. I so desperately wanted to be the reason for his pleasure, the smile on his face, the joy in his world. He shushed me, lips trailing down to my collarbone, hands working at removing my t-shirt.

I let him take it off and his quickly followed. His lips were feverish against my now exposed skin. He was quick with his movements, licking and sucking across my tattoos until his lips were at the waistband of my pants.

"I was just upset cause I missed home," he mumbled as he worked down my chest with his obscene lips.

"I'm sorry." The words came out breathy and he had me panting just from the anticipation of where his lips led.

"We are really dumb; this is a dumb idea." He whispered; voice deep. He looked up at me from where he and his curls hesitated at my hips. For the first time, I could finally see his eyes. They were full of forbidden longing, hunger, and sadness. I wanted to kiss that sadness away.

"Do you want to stop?"

"No." His fingers joined his lips at my waistband. While he kissed my hips, his fingers worked at untying the strings of my joggers. He pulled my pants and boxers down at once, just enough to expose my length to him.

"Come here," I mumbled. He scooted so that he was closer to me, sitting on his knees. My fingers reached for his waist. While his lips kissed their way from my hips to my cock, I ran my palm over his tented jeans. He was hard and panting as he took me into his mouth.

I groaned and quickly fumbled with his jeans to release him from them. I stroked him slowly while he licked and sucked. He was moving so fast, head bobbing eagerly up and down, taking me deeper until I hit the back of his throat.

I didn't feel brave enough to look down at him, to see his pink lips turn red while my cock disappeared inside his mouth. I closed my eyes, imagining it instead, moaning. "Fuck."

I quickened my movements around him, flicking my wrist and thumb moving across his head. He moaned around me, vibrations pulling me closer and closer to my climax. I placed my other hand on his head, pulling him off me gently. He looked up at me, confused. "Come here, wanna taste you."

His hand kept working on my cock, now slick and wet from his blowjob. He sat back while he stroked me, and I leaned over to take him into my mouth.

I sucked around his head, hallowing out my cheeks as I moved down his length. His hand moved faster around me and I was wrapped in the pleasure of hearing his moans and feeling him. I came soon after that over his hand and my belly, moaning around him.

His hips rolled and he thrust to my moans, making his cock go deeper in my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. He came, panting and groaning.

I swallowed and pulled up, finding him with his eyes screwed shut, only his chest moving, heaving up and down, trying to catch his breath. I cleaned myself up with my discarded t-shirt. I looked back at him to find him in the same place, pants pulled up now. Eyes still shut.

I sat on the bed in front of him. "Open your eyes," I said gently.

"Is it always gonna be like this with us?" He asked, softly. He opened his eyes but looked down.

"What do you mean?"

"On again, off again? Broken up, messing around? Is that who we are?"

"I don't know how to answer that question." I replied. "I just know I can't stand to see you sad."

He laid back on the bed with a sigh. "I don't want this to be who we are."

"I'm not ready for this to be over," I laid my head on his shoulder, testing the waters of how much physical contact I could manage to have with him tonight.

"You're also not ready to settle down and give up drinking and partying," he mumbled.

"Can we please not argue tonight?"

"Do you want to sleep here?" He pulled his jeans off, tossing them on the floor, and got under the covers.

"If that's okay." He nodded and we laid in bed together, cautiously cuddling. Our legs weren't touching, his head was positioned on my chest. My arm was wrapped around him, lightly.

He fell asleep quickly and as he slept, he pulled me tighter and tighter. It made it impossible for me to sleep. Because I wanted him, desperately, but not under these circumstances. But I didn't think that it was fair of him to ask me to change myself for him. I wasn't the kind of person that could just sit around. I wanted to do things for myself, going out was the only thing I could do for myself.

And no matter how much I loved him, I was constantly being asked to give things up for other people, for the band. I wanted to hold onto this one thing I could do for myself.

I eventually drifted off to sleep and when I woke up, the bed was empty next to me. A note was laying next to the bedside table. Went to breakfast, H.

I grabbed my phone, looking through texts, missed emails, phone calls. One made my heart stop.

Hi Louis. We need to talk.

We didn't call emergency meetings very often in the band anymore. Most situations were just handled per precedent. We had already voted on how to do damage control on most situations that couldn't be covered up, like a night of partying or drug use rumors.

But nothing like this had happened before.

You can apparently get a paternity test as early seven weeks. It had been two weeks since she texted me that we needed to talk, she was finally seven weeks along. The test was positive. The baby was mine.

Harry kept asking me why I was avoiding him, especially after what happened that night. I kept giving him bullshit answers, that I needed some time to think about what happened. He eventually gave up asking.

I was sat in the hotel room with our management team, Liam was the first to come in. "Do you know what this is about?" He asked, in a hushed tone. I didn't look at him.

Niall and Harry came in together, sitting on the other bed. "Let's get this over with." Paul mumbled.

"I uh..." as I started speaking, all their heads snapped towards me. I couldn't look any of them in the eyes as I finished my statement. "Got a girl pregnant."

"Louis, are you sure that-" Niall asked.

"Yeah."

"And it's yours? For sure?" Liam asked.

"Yes."

I heard Liam mumble shit. While Amanda, the head of our PR team, took the reins, talking about how we were going to drop the news. I couldn't listen to her. I could only focus on Harry. He looked like he wasn't breathing, color completely drained from his face.

As soon as Amanda stopped speaking, he stood and left the room. I dashed after him, trying to keep up with his long legs.

"Harry, let me explain."

"Fuck off." He grumbled, low.

"It's not what you think," I promised.

"Did you sleep with her while we were together?"

"No, of course not. Are you kidding? I would never cheat on you, I'm not that kind of person."

"Right, you're just the kind of person that gets fucking one night stands pregnant."

"Harry," I reached for his hand. He whipped around, towering over me, seething with hatred and anger. I had never seen him look so upset. He put his hands on my chest and pushed me away.

"I said fuck off. Do you know how fucking embarrassing that is? Finding out like that? In front of everybody? I can't believe you wouldn't tell me, fucking warn me. Did our relationship not mean anything to you?"

"Harry, I didn't know what to say. I'm sorry."

"Fuck you," He spat back at me.

"Harry, come on. Please."

"I do not want to hear it. Never speak to me outside of work."

\---

I was in LA mid-November. I had to sign some paperwork to sell my LA house that I could only sign in person, my schedule was tight between recording for the show and writing new music.

I was only in LA for less than 48 hours. I left three of those to see Harry.

Specifically, the three hours before my flight.

If anything went wrong, I had the perfect excuse to get out of there. If it got too overwhelming or anything, frankly I had no idea what to expect from seeing him again, I could just say I had a flight to catch and leave.

The driver dropped me off at 1 pm, I was a little late, we were supposed to meet at 12:30. I was at his house, right off the beach. There was a huge gate, and I rang it after the driver pulled off. I was immediately buzzed in.

The house was classy with a cobblestone drive and stone arches, I didn't know much about architecture to be honest. But it looked like a tiny, personal castle, perfectly befitting for someone as noble as Harry Styles.

He stepped out to meet me before I could knock on the door. His hair was growing out again and it looked so soft. Curls formed at the nape of his neck, he was wearing a ruby sweater and jeans. No shoes, just socks. They had wiener dogs on them.

I wiped my now sweaty palms on my black joggers. Fuck, he looked good.

"Uh – hi." He said, voice low and nervous. Despite the nerves, he looked me in the eyes when he spoke and flashed me a smile.

"Hey," I said, stepping inside and toeing off my shoes to leave by the door.

"Ah, look at you. Finally wearing socks," he teased.

I laughed. "Piss off, look at you finally wearing jeans that aren't two sizes too small."

"Heeeey," he complained, smile bright on his smooth pink lips. "If you're not going to be nice, you can't have any of the lunch I made us."

"You made us lunch?"

"Of course, what kind of host doesn't make lunch for someone coming over 'round lunch time?"

He started to walk away, long legs sweeping with determination. I followed after him, arriving at this lavish cream kitchen. He had plates set out on the island with some fancy looking salad topped with seared steak. He told me to help myself to the fridge for a drink.

I grabbed us both some hipster local beer he had all the way in the back. I wanted to take the edge off a little bit. I slid him the beer as he talked to me about the raspberry vinaigrette he made for our salads. I watched his long, slender fingers pick up the glass his vinaigrette was in and he poured some over both of our salads.

One ring in particular caught my attention. His stainless-steel peace ring. The first one he ever got, that I gave him.

"You still wear that?" I asked. He looked up at me, confused, until he noticed me staring at his fingers.

"Oh, yeah. Of course, I do." He said, quietly. I nodded, scared to pry, to ask why.

We talked briefly over lunch, exchanging how are you's and asking about each other's families. He asked me when my music was coming out, I told him I was still working on it.

His lips constantly distracting me. Every time I would force myself to drag my eyes from his lips to his eyes, he would take another bite of his salad. The raspberry vinaigrette would glisten and sometimes even drip from his full lips. And I'd be drawn back in.

Eventually, his lips stopped moving. And he was looking at me. "Lou, you okay?"

I was definitely caught. I was screwed.

"I have a flight to catch." I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. Shit, why did I say that? Disappointment washed over his face.

"Oh. Now?" He asked.

"I have to leave here by 4 if I have any hope of catching it."

"Oh, alright then. We don't have much time then. I was wishing that we could've watched the sunset together. It's my favorite part of living here."

"I'm sorry," I apologized.

"No worries," He nodded. He stood, taking our plates, his empty and mine with the avocados I picked around. "Come, let's go to the living room."

I followed him again, wishing to whatever higher power that was up there that his body wasn't so god damn distracting to me. I wanted to hold his hand, rub mine down his torso. I wanted to explore whatever tattoos were hidden under that sweater that I hadn't seen yet.

He led me to this room with a ton of built in shelves, books and crystals and trinkets filled up every space. Plants gravitated toward the sun; antiques were placed in away from it. He had a big leather couch that he plopped down on, one leg crossed over the other.

I made my way to a bookcase, fingertip grazing a crystal. "I didn't think you'd turn into a meditating LA yoga mum," I said, turning back to look at him. He was amused.

"They're like just so centering," he said in an exaggerated Californian accent. He seemed pleased with himself when I laughed. I sat down next to him, folding a leg under myself. Our knees were touching.

"So, um." He dropped his head down, a piece of hair falling into his face. Then he looked up at me through his eyelashes. "I'm not really sure how to start this," he said with a breathy laugh.

"I just want to be close again," I mumbled. "Whatever that means, for us and for who we are now, I'll take it."

He smiled, full of charm, dimple set deep into his cheek. "I'd love to get to know the person you are now."

Slowly, like it had a mind of its own, my hand reached out to him. It touched the piece of hair that had fallen into his eyes and brushed it back. Neither of us were breathing. My hand lingered, against his cheek, and he leaned into it.

"Fuck, Lou. I missed you," he whispered, staring straight into my eyes, pupils dilated.

"I missed you too... so much." I said. Harry bit his lip, I could see him mulling something over in the way he chewed at it. I didn't notice his hand go to my thigh and rest there. I exhaled, slowly and shakily.

The air surrounding us was intense and heavy, barely breathable. His grip on my thigh caused me to gravitate towards him, like an invisible string pulled by fate. I got closer and closer until he was leaning back on the couch and I was between his thighs.

Both of his hands were on my hips now, his eyes settled on my lips for a while until they met my eyes. "Harry," I whispered, centimeters away from his lips. The word fell against his lips and settled there for a second, until I decided to press my lips against his.

He pulled my closer, hands finding my ass now, as he kissed me back. I licked at his lips and he silently granted me access when he gasped and parted them. I pulled his bottom lip between my teeth and sucked. He moaned beneath me.

His tongue slipped into my mouth, exploring and licking while my hands went into his hair. He kissed me, hard and desperate. We didn't break from the kiss until we were both gasping for air. I felt him grow hard under me. His head fell back as he was panting, and I took that opportunity to place rough kisses to his jaw.

"Wait," he mumbled, fidgeting below me, voice hazy and lustful. "You're not single."

I rolled my eyes and dropped my lips to where his sweater had slipped down to expose his collarbone. I peppered light kisses there. "Yes, I am." I insisted.

"No, you're not. Saw on twitter." He whispered; voice weak from the kisses we both desired.

I sucked softly at the base of his neck. "Thought you didn't go on twitter," I spoke into his flushed skin.

He placed his hands on my shoulders and dragged me away to look him in the eyes. I whined. "Harry," I spoke. "You know it's not like that between El and I. We are just friends."

"Friends that kiss in public sometimes." He pouted, lips becoming even more full and pronounced. I couldn't resist placing a kiss on them.

"You know why. I'm not with her, not like that."

"Promise?" He asked, resolve weakening, letting go of my shoulders. His hands fell back at my sides, slipping under my shirt.

"Yes," I replied, honestly. I went back down to the base of his neck and kissed roughly, not caring about whether or not I left traces. His skin flushed under me, driving me wild. I kissed up and up until I got to what once was his favorite spot, right on the corner of his jaw.

He whined under me and I licked teasingly. His hands slipped under my boxers, grabbing my ass, and his fingers dug in deep as I sucked hard on the flushed skin. He hissed beneath me and grinded his hips up into me.

His hands moved from my ass to the front of my joggers, dipping below the waist of them. I panted against his neck in anticipation, a silent beg for him to please touch me there. His fingers slowly wrap around my length and I exhaled sharply. He stroked me inside my boxers and I dug my nails into his soft hips. I kissed his lips again, sucking and biting his bottom lip in between wet, desperate kisses.

"Tell me what you want," I spoke into his mouth with a shared breath. He waited a moment before he replied.

"I want to ride you." He moaned quietly with his eyes closed, bright pink blush spread across his cheeks. Jesus, he was so sexy.

"Shit, okay. Do you have-"

He cut me off before I could finish by abruptly pulling away, head nodding eagerly. His thigh grazed my hardened cock as he sat up and I bit my lip at the contact. "Be right back, don't move."

I sat against the couch, head falling into my hands. What the hell was I doing? We were supposed to be talking things out, becoming friends. But everything I felt for him was also so tied to us being physically pulled towards each other.

I was so lost in thought, I barely noticed Harry return to the room. He placed items on the couch – condoms and lube and a hand towel – and kneeled on the floor between my legs, looking up at me. Every worry I had vanished from my mind seeing him on his knees, lips wet from feverish kisses.

He looked up at me, sincerely, with hands spread on my thighs and asked, "Do you want to do this?"

"Yes, yes, of course, yes." I panted. Harry's hands moved up my thighs to my waist while he pulled down my boxers. My cock was already leaking precum and he slowly licked it up, looking me straight in my eyes. I bit my lip hard as he took me into his mouth, never breaking eye contact.

His red lips moved up and down my shaft as he took me deeper into his wet mouth. I groaned as my head fell back and my hips involuntarily rolled forward. I hit the back of his throat and he rolled his tongue against me. I wasn't going to last long like this.

I gestured for him to come here and he joined me on the couch, kissing me and stroking me while I undid his jeans and pulled them down with his boxers. He kicked them off at the ankles, sending them halfway across the room. He yanked my shirt off feverishly and kissed my chest while my hands found the lube he placed next to us.

He leaned over, ass in the air, head in my lap. He licked, tongue flat against my dick, while I put lube on two fingers. I rubbed my hand down his toned back, muscles relaxing under my touch, while I ran a finger down the heat that seeped from between his legs.

He groaned as I placed a finger on his hole, circling and caressing until he relaxed enough for it to slip in. He pressed his soft lips to the tip of my cock and moaned obscenely. It took everything in me not to thrust my hips up into those lips.

Even though it had been a while since Harry and I last had sex, I still knew his tells. We had years of exploring the porcelain, soft skin. He arched his back deeper and I added a second finger, curling them up, thrusting them in and out. He laid against my lap, hot breaths around my cock, toes curling. He sucked me sloppily, leaving my cock glistening and wet.

He whimpered when I removed my fingers then got up to straddle me. He rolled the condom on and took the botte of lube from my hands, generously coating me.

"I want you so bad," he spoke against my lips.

"I'm yours then." I said, looking right into his eyes. I was his, in every sense of the word. I would do anything for this man, this boy whose eyes I fell in love with. He put his hands on my shoulders to steady himself and slowly lowered himself down on my cock, eyes screwed shut.

I dug my fingers into his hips, choking on my moans. He was covered in a light sheen of sweat, light from the sun pouring into the room, his skin drinking it in. "God, babe. You feel so good."

He adjusts and starts to ride me, hips slowly circling as his head falls down onto my shoulder. His hips rolled, always so slowly and teasingly, going at an agonizing pace that left me panting. I kissed his shoulder and chest, small moans escaping from his lips as I brushed against his prostate.

My hand went up his back, to the nape of his neck, where I laced my fingers with the tiny curls there. I pulled his hair and his toes curled while I moved him so that he was no longer hidden in my neck.

Sitting up straight, he started bouncing against my lap. "Fuck, shit." His moans got louder when I firmly pulled on his hair again, filthy groans falling from his perfect lips. I pressed my heels into the rug below and thrusted up into him, making him scream.

His nails dug into my back as we both panted, and he pleaded. "Touch me, touch me please."

He bounced faster and faster, eyes rolled back in pleasure, as I teasingly dragged my hand down his chest, tracing random patterns, until I got to his cock. I slowly pumped his cock, wanting to hear him beg for more or faster. I saw the muscles in his stomach clench as he moaned. "More, more. Fuck."

The words barely fell from his lips, he was so gone. I picked up the speed, eager to be the reason for the moans that came from his sinful looking mouth. "I'm close," he panted.

I thrusted up into him roughly, chasing after my own climax, making him bounce forward into my hand. "Do that again," he panted, head falling back. I put one hand on his hip to steady him and thrusted again, groaning with him. I kept doing it until he came, hot drops falling onto his chest and my hand.

When he came, he leaned over to ride out his high, making it easier for me to fuck up into him. I put one hand on his back to hold him in place and jerked my hips up quickly. I felt the familiar build in the pit of my stomach, but it wasn't until Harry moaned my name that I finally came.

"Fuck, Harry. Haz." I panted. He wiggled around so I no longer was inside him, but he stayed on my lap. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tightly against me. He laid his head down on my chest as we both caught our breath.

My eyes closed, savoring the moment. I don't know how long we sat like that, but eventually, he sat up. His emerald eyes were shining, and his curls were tousled, and I couldn't breathe. He was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. He bit his lip as he leaned closer placing soft kisses on my lips. I held him and kissed him back.

"Uh, we were supposed to talk." He whispered.

"Let me clean up, and then we can." He nodded. I asked him where I could toss the condom and he gestured towards the kitchen, directing me to where his trash can was. I glanced over to the oven, noticing the time. Fuck.

4:03.

"Haz," I called out, walking back to his living room. He was wiping his chest with the towel and pulling on his boxers. "The time."

"For fuck's sake," he groaned, head falling back. I hastily pulled on my clothes, checking my phone. My driver had already texted me twice. On my way I replied.

I pulled him closer by his hips, disappointment clear on his face. I was terrified that he regretted what we just did. I hugged him and kissed his cheek. As I pulled away and started walking towards the door, he caught my chin between his fingers and placed a chaste kiss on my lips.

I texted him on the way to the airport.

I'm sorry that's how we spent all our time. Do you regret it?

He replied quickly.

I've never regretted any of the time I've spent in your arms. It's only the times I spend out of them that I question.

\---

"It had been a year and a half since he last held me, since we got into that huge fight."

Harry was the first person to reach out after my mum passed away, it was less than an hour after it happened. I didn't know how he found out. He called me while I was holding Lottie and Daisy, both of them crying into my chest.

I didn't answer, replying with a text instead. With the girls, call you later.

I held Daisy in her bed until she fell asleep, Lottie spoke soothing words into Phoebe's hair, stroking it. It was around midnight, I smelled like hospital. The smell creeped into my bones, settled on my skin, and assaulted my nose.

With most scents, you get used to it after a while. You stop being able to recognize it. That was not the case with the smell of the strong sanitizer and cleaner they used at hospitals; it was strong enough to mask everything that went on in its stark white halls.

"I'm gonna go home and shower," I told Mark, walking out the door before he could reply. I needed to be alone. I made myself put on a strong face for the girls. As they grew up, I was always there for them. I always made sure they had a shoulder to cry on.

I didn't want to cry in front of them.

I looked through my phone, scrolling through a ton of "I'm sorry" and "Heaven gained an angel" texts. I stopped on Harry's.

Okay, please do call me.

I'm here for you.

I'm in London actually. Do you want me to come over?

His texts were spread out over the past few hours.

I just kind of want to be alone. I replied.

You shouldn't be alone. Don't shut me out please...

I'll be at mine in 5

I didn't know what to do while I waited for him to get there, I just stood around in my kitchen, trying to keep my mind blank. I heard the buzzer go off and it made me jump. I walked over and buzzed him up, waiting for him by the door.

When I let him in, he was carrying containers of food. "I cooked to distract myself," he said, as a greeting. "Have you eaten?"

I didn't remember if I'd eaten or not. I just shrugged. He stepped into my flat past me but then he hesitated. "Uh, where's your kitchen? I'll heat this up for you."

I gestured towards the kitchen, following him silently. He heated up roasted vegetables and chicken, placing them in front of me. I picked at them, they tasted like nothing. I pretended like he wasn't watching me with furrowed brows and concerned eyes. I pretended like the food I was eating didn't feel like cotton in my mouth.

"I'm gonna go shower." I said without meeting his eyes. I felt his eyes follow me as I walked down the hall to the bathroom. The second I closed the door; the tears fell.

Sobs violently shook my body as I crumpled to the floor and I choked on them. I couldn't breathe and I felt everything closing in on me. A cold sweat covered my body as sobs ripped through my throat aggressively, I started gagging.

I could hardly see but just barely managed to make it to the toilet before I started throwing up. I felt warm large warm hands rub my back while I sobbed and puked and shook.

He laid me in between his legs after I finished throwing up and I cried, silent open mouth broken sobs, against his chest with my hand in a tight fist clutching his shirt.

He just held me; he didn't say anything. He ran his fingers through my hair and rubbed soothing circles onto my back. I could tell he was crying himself, trying his best to be silent and strong and there for me. His tears were burning against my skin when they fell down his cheek onto the top of my head.

The familiar numb feeling washed over me as my tears slowed down and I laid there, blankly against his chest, staring at the freezing white tile of my bathroom. I shivered and he stood with his arms wrapped strongly around me. "Let's take a shower," His voice was torn, and his whispered words were lost in the thick silence of the air. The words barely registered to me.

He kept one arm around me, firmly around my waist, as he turned on the shower. As he waited for the shower to warm up, he removed our clothes. They formed sad, sweaty pools of darkness, a stark contrast against the crisp white tile.

I was freezing cold and leaned into his burning body for warmth until he pulled us into the shower. He grabbed my vanilla spiced body wash and ran his fingers over my body while I laid motionless against him with my head falling, exhausted, against his shoulder. Once he was done, he picked my chin up between his fingers and tilted my head back.

His fingers ran soothingly through my hair, putting in shampoo and then conditioner, and I sank into the touch, eyes closed. His fingers were polite, never inappropriate, and familiar. I held onto him, so we were stood in the steam, scared to step out of it back into the world that had just come crashing down.

But the water ran cold, the steam settled in beads of condensation. Harry wrapped a large fluffy towel around his hips, dried me off, then nuzzled into me, close to my ear. "I'm sorry, I don't know where your bedroom is, love." Right. Because he had never been here before.

Standing here with him, in considering all the comfort I found within the way his familiar fingers knew everywhere to press into my body to make me feel calm, it was hard for me to believe that there were such mundane aspects of my life, like the layout of my flat, that he did not have intimate and personal knowledge of.

With a nod, I silently walked to the bedroom. Harry scrambled behind me after picking up our dirty clothes. I rummaged through my drawers, looking for sweatpants that were too big for me to give to him. I handed him clothes before I located my own. "Those should fit you," were the last words I spoke to him that night.

He held me in bed, a silent agreement between the two of us that he would stay over, that he would hold me with his strong arms riddled with black lines and shades whose counterparts could be found somewhere on my body, that I would lay my head on his chest until I fell into a numb, comatose slumber, and that those arms would stay locked around me until the sun rose.

I woke up before him that next morning. He was laid, half on top of me, on his stomach, an arm resting on my stomach. I was thankful for the fact that he was a heavy sleeper because I managed to get out from under him. Even though I missed his warmth immediately, I settled into the chilling numb that fell into my bones.

I sat on the balcony in just a t-shirt, despite the crisp December air. I was on my sixth cigarette when Harry stepped out onto the balcony. He looked at the smoke spilling from my hand as I lifted it to my lips. I could tell he wanted to tell me to stop.

He didn't.

"Cold." He mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. "Why don't you come inside?"

"I'm good." He looked at me with sad, forest green eyes. Instead of fighting or arguing, he sat next to me. He pressed his arm into mine, my only source of warmth.

"Can I have one?" He whispered. Harry rarely smoked, at least that was true when we were together. He would only smoke with me. I handed him my pack and lighter and he looked straight ahead as he pressed the flame against the end. He smoked as slow as he spoke and shivered. He was cold. I stood.

"Come on, let's go inside," I said once he finished smoking. I picked up my phone, needing to reply to a few emails. I had a performance in a couple days. They offered to reschedule, everyone said they supported whatever decision I made.

I chose to go through with it. I craved the distraction, the adrenaline.

Niall and Liam reached out after they heard the news. I asked them to come to the performance. They were going to all be there.

I quickly fell into a routine. See the girls, smoke, rehearse, smoke, be held by Harry, smoke.

I was numb fingertips left poking out of a jacket in a blizzard.

After I performed, I was going to go out. I wanted to black out, I didn't want to remember my name. I wanted to drink until tequila felt like water and I couldn't taste the choked sobs that threatened to claw their way from my throat.

I guess Harry had different plans for me.

He came back to my flat after the performance and looked confused when I came back out to the kitchen, dressed in jeans and an Adidas t-shirt, downing a shot.

"You going out?" He asked, I could hear the judgement seep like molten lava from his voice.

I reached for a bottle of vodka and poured myself another shot. "Yep," I answered, short.

"Are you sure that's the best idea?" He asked, brows raised. So fucking judgmental.

I pressed the shot glass to my lips and drank, slamming it down on the counter when I was done. "Seriously, Harry. Fuck off. I can grieve how I want."

"I'm not telling you how to grieve, I'm just saying I don't think it's the best idea for you to go out and get drunk after what happened."

"After what happened," I repeated, voice dripping in sarcasm, a dry chuckle escaping my lips. "Fucking say what happened, Harry. She died!" I yelled at him.

"Louis." He scolded, voice full of warning.

"You're so fucking arrogant. You think you know everything, but you don't."

"What did you just say?" He asked. I knew he heard me; he was giving me a chance to back down. But I refused.

"You're an arrogant bitch. You're always trying to change me, tell me what to do. Cause you think you're so god damn perfect."

"I don't think I'm perfect. Stop picking a fight with me." His voice was stern.

"I'm not picking a fight with you; I'm telling you how it is."

"And how is it, Louis? Tell me how it is." His chest was heaving, nostrils flared. Anger surrounded him.

"You've always been this silent judgmental type because you always do everything perfect. And you're so arrogant about it because you know you're perfect. But you have faults too! You just can't ever admit them!" I was screaming at him, taking my anger out on him.

"Then I guess you'll never have to feel judged by me again. Because I am done trying."

Fuck him because he walked out after that. I could have followed after him, I could have cried, crumpled to the floor.

But instead I pressed the bottle of vodka to my lips and drank into oblivion. 

\---

Harry had the most ridiculous schedules for "time off" of anyone I had ever seen.

After the trip to LA, Harry had his assistant send me over his schedule for the time that he'd spend in London. First of all, who even schedules their time off?

The schedule was full, between seeing old friends and family and new friends and going to concerts. I was surprised that his bathroom trips weren't scheduled. There was hardly any time for us to talk.

But I was fit inside the schedule too. It was labelled T.L.W.

I had made a huge mistake telling Harry about the fact that I kept his contact in my phone under the secret initials of S.H.E. He thought it was hilarious to put me in his schedule as the same.

To say I was nervous was an understatement. I didn't know where Harry and I stood, especially after we had sex at his place in LA. We have texted since then, but they were all surface level things like pictures of what we were doing and how are you texts. And his idiotic jokes.

I arrived on time, right after his work out as requested, proud of myself. I knocked on the door precisely at one in the afternoon. He answered with a bright smile on his face.

That smile was the sun. It washed over me and I felt my body relax. He greeted me with a hug. And not a one-armed hug. He wrapped his toned arms around my waist and pulled me to him. He leaned down so I could wrap my arms around him as well and he buried his face into my neck.

I sank into the feeling of his arms, relaxing into the way the smell of his cologne and shampoo enveloped me into a hug as well. "Hi," I spoke into his neck.

He pulled away a little bit, arms still wrapped firmly around me. "Hey there," he said. The words were soft on his lips, full of anticipation and eagerness.

We stepped into the house together, this felt right. Being with him felt right. "Want something to drink? Eat?" His hands rubbed down to my hips. "You're too thin," he mumbled, eyes full of sincerity.

"I'm okay." In reality, I was too nervous to eat. This felt like the last chance Harry and I had to get things right. And we were here to figure out what getting things right even meant.

We had walked into his kitchen, I was leaning against the island. He was standing in front of me, hands still touching my hips. His gaze was intense, and it drew us closer until we were chest to chest. He leaned down and planted his lips firmly on mine.

He pushed me further into the counter with his hips. Then, without breaking away from my lips, picked me up and placed me on the counter. His fingers pressed firmly under my shirt as he kissed me harder, biting eagerly at my lip. "You're irresistible," he spoke into the kiss.

His words drew me back to reality, away from the temptation of his lips and I leaned back, away from him.

"We have to talk first," I said, a disappointment to the growing length in my jeans.

He smiled apologetically and leaned his head against my shoulder. "You're right, I'm sorry." He sat down in a chair on the island, I stayed perched on the counter.

We looked at each other, I studied his green eyes. They were a paler green today, it made the tiny golden bursts in them even more visible. "I'll start," he offered. Thank god.

"That night, when I was at your place." He spoke slowly, enunciating and thinking over every single word. "You talked about feeling judged. Do you remember?"

"I do."

"I didn't realize it was like that for you in our relationship, that you felt judged by me." He looked down, studying and fidgeting with his hands.

"It wasn't always you I felt judged by, but I did. Sometimes, especially that night. You always were eager to do what they wanted you to. And always so polite and perfect and did everything right. I felt like a screw up compared to you. And I felt like there wasn't any room for me to mess up in our relationship." I admitted.

"What do you mean?" He asked, taking my hands.

"I felt like if I made a bad decision or a mistake, I couldn't come to you with it. Partially because of these standards I self-imposed. If I was dating a golden boy, I had to be golden too. Or because I didn't want to disappoint you."

"I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I didn't mean to." He held his head down, shame seeping from his voice. I picked his chin up with my fingers so I could look at him in the eyes.

"Thank you for apologizing, it means a lot to me." I smiled, stroking the soft, curly hair right above his ear.

"I also realized that you were right," he said, carefully. "I was way too caught up in everything, in trying to be perfect, maintain that perfect image. I put so much pressure on myself to be that person. I thought that was what I needed to be to survive."

I nodded, sadly. "And I wasn't exactly the most understanding of the pressure on you," I offered. He replied with a sad smile.

"I also realized that you were right." I said. A look of confusion pressed against his brows. I pressed my thumbs there, soothing the lines away. "I realized that drinking and partying, that it wasn't me and that I wasn't going about it in a healthy and safe way. It just felt so good to be able to hold onto something, to let myself have something." He nodded, understanding how much we had to give up to be able to do what we loved.

"And sometimes it felt like you were trying to take that away from me too. I panicked, got defensive. I made us fight." I whispered.

"We fought," He insisted. "It was the two of us. I don't think either of us went about it in the best way."

I sniffled, not realizing that tears had fallen down my cheeks. Laying everything out in the open felt like such a release, I was overwhelmed. Harry stood, noticing my tears, and wiped them away with his thumbs. He held me, I was pressed against his chest, taking strained and labored breaths against him.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, into his sweater.

"Did you get everything off your chest?"

"Yes," I said, voice full of relief.

"Good, then we are good then." He smiled brightly down at me. "I missed being your friend, Lou."

"I missed being yours, Haz." I smiled back.

"The sun will be setting soon. Why don't I make us some dinner and we can eat it on the patio?"

I nodded. "That sounds good. Can I help?"

"No, you're a terrible cook."

I jumped off the counter. "Hey, I've gotten better!" Despite my insistence, Harry still didn't let me help with the vegetable chili and cornbread he made us. He said it was a good meal for the cool evening.

He did allow me to make us a lemonade.

He carried two blankets and the bowls of chili out to a patio and set it up next to an electric heater. I carried our glasses of lemonade. We ate, wrapped in blankets, sat in lounge chairs. I smiled over at him, golden sunset light gracing his soft features and illuminating his sharp ones.

With our bowls of chili long gone and conversation providing the only distraction, I got lost in the way the way the sunlight danced over his pink lips as a laugh escaped from him. I didn't reply to whatever he asked me. I forgot to keep up the conversation.

So, he caught me staring.

He stood, taking my plate. "Come, let's watch a movie." He called behind him as he walked back into the house. He offered me a pair of joggers to change into and we settled on his bed.

"Are you still into romantic comedies?" I asked. He used to make me watch hours of them in bed, always groaning and complaining whenever I tried to switch to another show or assert that it was my turn. I once grew so tired of constantly watching the same movies over and over that I changed his Netflix password.

It didn't stop him for long.

"Are you still willing to watch them?" He teased. I glanced at his tv. The rom com genre was already pulled up on the screen. "I'm not a huge fan of these new age teen ones, but this one is pretty good." He told me, turning on something called To All The Boys I've Loved Before.

I flipped the lights off in his room and snuggled close. He wanted to be the little spoon. So, we laid with my head resting on top of his curls, angled towards the tv. My arms were wrapped around his torso. He stretched one of his long arms back; it settled at the waistband of my joggers.

I was caught up in Lara Jean and what happened after her sister sent those letters. I barely noticed that Harry's long fingers reached below the waist band and were now stroking my hips.

"Oi, stop trying to get in my pants." I called. Harry was right, this teen drama was actually pretty good.

"You're already in mine," He retorted with a soft chuckle, fingers pulling and snapping the waist of the borrowed joggers, his joggers. I placed a hand over his mouth lightly.

"If you tell another pun, I'm out of here." I warned. He flipped over, burying his face in my chest and pulled me closer.

"Stay, cuddle." He spoke softly. I nodded, running my fingers through his curls until he fell asleep, face in my chest, the hint of smile gracing his lips. I stayed up to finish the movie before falling asleep in his arms.

I woke up, the room pitch black. Harry was breathing peacefully, curls wild beneath him. It was a dream that woke me up. I brought my hand up to my cheek, collecting the tears that gathered there. Harry was very close to me; the air in the room felt too thick; I couldn't breathe.

I tried my best to get out of his bed without disturbing him and padded my way barefoot to the kitchen. Harry's kitchen and living room were all one room. He had big, bay windows. They let in a pale light that bled across the floor from the moonlight casting itself across the thick fog. It was enough for me to see my way to the fridge.

I grabbed a bottle of water, not even thirsty. Just craving a distraction. And I didn't bring my cigarettes to Harry's. I was still stood in front of the open fridge, bottle of water pressed to my lips, when I felt hands press against my arms.

"Lou?" Harry said, he rested his head against my shoulder. His voice was worn and thick with sleep. I hummed around the bottle and rested my head against his.

Then I remembered my dream and started to pull away. "What's wrong?" he asked.

I hesitated but decided that I should tell him. I was trying to make this work with him, whatever it was, and keeping secrets wasn't going to help.

"I had a bad dream," I explained, turning around in his arms to face him. The light from the fridge washed over his features. He peered down at me with concerned eyes. A hand came up to stroke my cheek.

"What was it about?"

"I was with someone."

"Okay?"

"And I was happy."

"Then that doesn't really sound like a bad dream, love." He drew me away from the fridge. He leaned against the counter and held me with my back against his chest. I melted into his embrace.

"We were together," I explained, more brave now that I couldn't see his facial expression.

"We are together right now, Lou." Jesus Christ, still so fucking oblivious.

"Haz," I said, getting frustrated. "Not like that. In the dream, we were together, dating."

He nodded and kissed the top of my head. He walked me over to a plush white couch and sat us down, me in his lap. His fingers went into my hair, softly rubbing and massaging.

"Is this a conversation you want to have right now? At four in the morning?" He spoke cautiously. I leaned back to look in his eyes. He didn't look upset. 

"Do you not want to have this conversation because..." I looked down. "Because you don't want to be with me?"

"No, no love," he said, voice frantic and broken. He held me close, I could feel his heartbeat against my back. "Some days, there is nothing I want more than to be with you. I want it so bad my entire body aches."

"And other days?" I asked.

"Other days, I remember that we moved in together before I was 18. I remember that we fell in love when we were kids, fast and hard. And while that was beautiful for what it was, that also comes with downfalls. Our lives during that time were ridiculous and fast paced."

I nodded and picked up the hand resting in my lap, running my fingers over his, memorizing the way my finger dipped into the valley of each knuckle. I wanted to have some feeling to ground this fleeting moment. I looked over at him, a glazed look was a blanket over his features.

Words spoken in the dark, to the moon, are often braver than those that make their way to the sun.

I saw his personal, inner thoughts, those that you save for a journal or your pillow late at night, become readable on his face before they spilled from his lips.

"That kind of volatile environment, it does not nurture love. It made the good times astronomical and the bad times like living in the pits of hell. We aren't there anymore, and I don't know what being with you is like outside of that."

"I look at you, Harry, and I still feel so much love for you – and the gravity of my feelings scare me. Because I don't know if I can ever be just friends with you." I confessed.

"I have so much love for you, Louis. And I want to act on it every time I see your name on my phone or see your blue eyes or feel your skin against mine."

I turned towards him, placing my hands on his cheeks and drawing him towards me. I pressed my lips against his desperately, our lips parting quickly. I drew a shaky breath from his lungs, eager to drink him in and make this moment last.

He kissed me back with the same intensity.

I shifted in his lap so that my thighs were on either side of his hips, deepening our kiss. Our tongues greedily met, pants and soft whimpers escaping into each other's mouths. He sat up, taking the backs of my thighs into his hands, and stood.

He held me with my legs wrapped around him and walked towards his bedroom. Our lips never parted from each other, we were the same passionate exhales, the same breathless groans, the same air.

My fingers curled into his hair and pulled, making his lips part further. We ended up sprawled out on his bed, him between my legs. His lips traveled down my neck and my head fell back as I moaned his name. I pressed my fingertips under the hem of his shirt and rubbed them into his hips and the laurel leaves resting there that made him look like a Greek god. I stripped the shirt off him, panting heavy with the desire to be closer, to be skin to skin.

"Get on your knees, baby." I said, voice in a whisper even though no one was around to hear us. Harry obliged and pulled away from me to press his knees into the bed. I put a hand on his back and pushed gently so his chest was pressed into the bed.

I stroked his hair until I got his attention then placed my fingers against his lips, tracing them. "Suck." I pushed two fingers past his lips and his tongue wrapped around them delicately. I kissed his shoulder and peppered hot, wet kisses down his back, stopping at the middle, where the curve of his back was the deepest.

I pulled down his boxers and sweats with my other hand and continued kissing down his back. I took my fingers out of his mouth and pressed one against his pink hole. I sucked on his hips, making him moan and grind his hips against my finger until it went in.

He relaxed around me as I caressed inside of him. I continued pressing and sucking kisses around his hips and lower back until I added my other finger, opening him up. "Lube, love?" I asked, and he half-heartedly gestured towards a drawer of his bedside table.

I stood and left him behind in his haze as he dragged his hips down against the covers, trying to get some friction against his hardened and leaking cock. I opened the drawer and rummaged through, seeing a dildo and a vibrator and finally lube. "Naughty, Styles."

I returned to Harry, placing my hands on his hips and dragging him back onto his knees, stopping him from grinding against the bed. He whimpered at the loss of contact.

I returned to pressing kisses against his lower back, this time licking and sucking down his flushed skin until my lips were pressed against his hole. "Louis," he groaned. "Please." It was whiny and breathy and desperate. I licked, flattening my tongue against his rim, until he relaxed against me.

A sigh of contentment left his lips. I circled my tongue around him, slowly licking until he opened up for me. Filthy moans fell from his lips, slightly muffled by the mattress and him biting at his lip.

I removed my briefs and joggers, stroked myself with lube and pulled back, pressing my cock into him instead.

He was hot and tight around me, panting and whimpering as I eased in slowly. "Good, baby?"

"Yes, please. I want you, you feel so good inside me." he said, grinding his hips against me.

I leaned into him, going deeper. We moaned together and I placed my hands on his back, fingertips massaging into tight muscles. I thrust my hips into him while I pressed my hands into his back and he moaned helplessly beneath me. I built up speed as I felt him relax against me.

"Fuck, Harry." I groaned, grinding my hips against his tight ass. I leaned over him, resting almost fully on his back, using the leverage of my hands on his shoulder blades to thrust hard and fast.

"T-touch – oh god. Fuck." He whimpered, a moaning mess beneath me.

"Say it, use your words." I encouraged. His head leaned back as I pressed deeper into him, my thrusts were becoming rougher and sloppier as I drew closer to my high.

"Touch me, please, fuck please." He whined, grinding his hips back against me, leaving me enough space so that I could wrap my hand around the base of his cock. But first I went to place a hand on his hip.

"Touch you here?" I asked, teasing and using his hip to pull him back against my dick.

"No, fuck. Come on." He groaned.

"Touch you where, baby?"

"Touch my – my cock."

"Anything for you, angel." I whispered dragging my hand slowly from his hip to the base of his cock. I stroked him, matching it to my thrust.

"Ah, yes," he screamed, toes curling, pure bliss falling from his parted red lips.

"Come for me, say my name." I said, pressing deeper into him. Pants and moans and whines were lost in the air. I could only hear him moan my name, a mantra from his sinful lips.

"Louis, Louis, Louis." He moaned my name as he came; his clenching around me had me following his orgasm soon after. I continued to lay against him, chasing my high in the feeling of his flushed, sweaty skin against mine. I pressed lazy kisses against him and stroked his hip.

I was pulled out of my daze by him scooting off me and turning around to wrap his arms tightly around me. His fingers traced against my tattoos softly, causing goosebumps to rise in his wake. I looked at the flushed, pink skin around his cheeks and soothed his wild hair. He drew me in for a kiss and against my lips he muttered "I love you."

"I love you," I said, desperately; now, I was chasing a different high. "I love you, I love you, I love you." I chanted against his lips. I felt him smile against me, big and bold and dimpled. I could swim in his dimple and bask in the heat that hearing him say I love you gave me.

The end...


End file.
